RUD. (raising her in alarm) Oh!  God!  Mimi!

(At this moment Schaunard_ returns, and hearing Rudolph’s exclamation, hastens to the bedside._)

SCH.  What now?

MIMI. (opens her eyes and smilingly reassures Rudolph_ and Schaunard) Nothing; I’m better.

RUD. (gently lowering her) Gently, for goodness’ sake!

MIMI.  Yes, forgive me:  now it’s over.

(MUSETTA and MARCEL_ cautiously enter; MUSETTA carrying a muff, and her companion a phial._)

MUS. (to RUDOLPH) Sleeping?

RUD. (approaching MARCEL) Just resting.

MAR.  I have seen the doctor. 
He’ll come—­I bade him hasten. 
Here’s the tonic.
(Takes a spirit lamp, and placing it upon the table, lights it.)

MIMI.  Who is it?

MUS.  I—­Musetta. (Approaches Mimi and gives her the muff.  Helped by Musetta, she sits up in bed, and, with almost infantine glee, seizes the muff)

MIMI.  So soft it is and feathery! 
No more will my poor fingers be frozen,
For this muff shall keep them warm. (to Rudolph)
Did you give me this present?

MUS. (eagerly) Yes!

MIMI.  You thoughtless fellow!  Thank you. 
It cost you dear. (Rudolph bursts into tears)
Weep not:  I’m better. 
Why should you weep for me? 
Here love . . . ever with you! . . .
(thrusts her hands into the muff; then she gradually grows drowsy,
gracefully nodding her head, as one who is overcome by sleep)
My hands are much warmer:  now I will sleep!

(RUDOLPH,_ reassured at seeing MIMI fall asleep, gently moves away from the bedside, and motioning the others not to make any noise, approaches MARCEL.)

RUD.  What said the doctor?

MAR.  He’ll come.

MUS. (who is busily heating the medicine, brought by MARCEL_, over
the spirit-lamp, as she unconsciously murmurs a prayer_)
Oh!  Mary!  Blessed Virgin! 
Save, of thy mercy, this poor maiden! 
Save her, Madonna mine, from death! 
(Rudolph, Marcel and Schaunard_ whisper together.  Every now
and then Rudolph goes on tiptoe to the bed, and then rejoins his
companions. Musetta, interrupting, bids Marcel place a book
upright on the table, so as to shade the lamp._)
Here there should be a shade,
Because the lamp is flickering! 
Like this. (resuming her prayer)
And, oh! may she recover! 
Madonna! holy mother!  I merit not thy pardon,
But our little Mimi is an angel from Heaven! 
(Rudolph approaches Musetta_, while Schaunard goes on tiptoe to
the bedside; with a sorrowful gesture he goes back to Marcel.)

RUD.  I still have hope.  Do you think it serious?

MUS.  Not serious.

SCH. (hoarsely) Marcel, she is dead! (Marcel in his turn goes up to the bed, and retreats in alarm; a ray of sunshine falls through the window upon Mimi’s face; Musetta points to her cloak, which, with a grateful glance, Rudolph takes, and standing upon a chair, endeavors to form a screen by stretching the cloak across the window-pane.)